


Smells like home.

by louise97



Series: The Happy Verse (post season 8) [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:13:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louise97/pseuds/louise97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of remarkable things when it comes to Cas. His scent is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smells like home.

There’s something about Cas’s scent.

Dean can't seem to find a word to describe it, but he's definitely addicted. It's a high with none of the downsides.

Except for one, which consists of him inevitably shoving his face _down_  the _side_  of Cas's neck at every available opportunity. It's landed him on pretty embarrassing situations, always made worse when Sam is around, because the ass won't let Dean hear the end of it for the rest of the day. He's fucking helpless, though. Sometimes it's just painful to be in Cas's vicinity without having his arms wrapped around his waist and nose buried in his neck. 

Two days ago, it got to a whole new level. 

Dean was able to find Cas wandering in a room of the bunker he didn’t even _know_ existed only by following that unmistakable trail of everything-nice Cas always leaves behind. When he thought about it over dinner, he concluded that _yeah_ , it might be a little weird to be able to sniff Cas around like a freaking Hell Hound, but then, Dean can't find it in himself to care. What can a guy do if his—whatever Cas is to him now—smells so damn _good?  
_

They're in bed when Dean brings it up the first time, resting after a long day working on the bunker's newfound garden (he hadn't thought much of the atrocious, lifeless thing when they first located it, but seeing how excited Cas got about restoring it, he pledged to help).

“Still in the land of the livin'?” He asks into messy dark strands, hands caressing the soft skin beneath Cas’s shirt. Castiel responds by shoving his face deeper into the pillow, growling softly.

By what he's mastered from Cas Sounds™, this particular one means he was about to tip over the edge of sleep until Dean inadvertently pulled him back. He presses an apology kiss to the top of Cas's head.

“Wa-wazzit?” Comes the gruff question a minute later. 

Dean chuckles - he'd been expecting that. Cas has a habit of not letting anything slide, never dismissing his words even when Dean wishes he would and coaxing them out of him like no one else.

Besides, he's a curious little shit. 

“I was wondering, how d'you manage to smell this way?”

Cas tenses up, slowly untangling himself from Dean's arms to look him in the eye. 

“You think I _smell?"_   He asks, voice wary. His face is no longer slack with sleep, but pulled taut, a glint of panic in his eyes.

Dean mentally kicks himself in the ass.  _Twice._

“Hell no—it's the _opposite._ Sorry I gave you the wrong idea, babe.” 

Cas tilts his head, squinty eyes and knit brows taking over his expression. Typical.

"What do I smell like, then?” 

“I don’t even know, Cas. It's just _so_ _good_." Dean says, gently taking Cas's wrist and pressing it to his nose. "Nothing's wrong when I breathe you.”

If possible, Cas squints even harder. “That doesn't sound veridical.” 

“And how could you tell? For all I know, people don’t get a sense of their own scent.” 

“I’m certain someone would've told me if I smelled that pleasantly.”

“Well guess what, Sherlock. I’m telling you now _._ ” 

“You’re… _biased_.” Cas says, burying his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. 

“Stubborn ass.” Dean grunts.

“You like it.” Cas replies, way too satisfied with himself.

“Yeah.” And because Dean's  _not_ letting Cas get the upper hand on this, “I _do_  like your ass.” 

Cas mock-gasps, playfully pushing Dean away. Dean chuckles, trying to hold him tighter, but Cas isn't deterred.

Next thing he knows, they're  _wrestling_. 

It takes some time, but when Cas lets his guard down - because he’s just laughing _too damn hard -_ Dean sees his opening. He grabs Cas's wrists and pins him to the mattress, and that’s the _whole freaking problem_ , actually, because when Dean looks down at Cas, something inside him just  _snaps_.

Cas is fucking gorgeous and he's beaming up at Dean like the motherfucking _sun_ and there are crinkles on the bridge of his nose and the corners of his eyes and— _  
_

“Dean?” Cas asks.

_Get your shit together, Winchester._

“Huh?” Dean manages. 

_Snap the fuck out of it._

“Are you alright?” Cas’s grin falters.

“Yeah, it’s just— _Damn_ _it_.”

_You can’t do it, jackass. You’ll ruin this. You'll—_

“Dean, what's wrong?” Cas's expression has fallen serious by now - he looks like he knows Dean might fall apart, like he's ready to catch him when that happens.

After all, Cas _is_ ready. He always has been.

He's ready to hold Dean before he hits bottom, to accept him even though he’s fucked up six ways from Sunday, to put up with his bullshit every passing day and still look at him like he's worth _everything_ at the end of each. There's no duty here, no obligation, just plain, deliberate _love_. For some reason, this beautiful being chose _him_ , of all people, in all the ways that matter.

“I love you.” The words come out of Dean’s mouth as naturally as the feeling has been built over the years.

There are no fireworks. The world doesn’t stop on its tracks. Sparks don’t fly.

It’s like the whole universe is long adapted to this truth; voicing it is equal to wind hitting ocean water - there’s some disturbance, but the components don’t change. Things don’t change much at all. The current will always be there, sometimes slow and calm, others wild and feral, but it’ll never waste away. 

_Never._

“I loved you first.” Cas says earnestly.

 

 

 

 

 

The world does stop a little this time.

 

 

 

 

“You’re so beautiful, Dean.” Cas cups his face. "Even in hell, your soul was the brightest thing I'd ever seen. When I cradled you in my arms, I knew I was holding the very fabric of the universe—the beginning and the end of time and space and all the wondrous things in-between."

Dean's suddenly thankful he's not standing, because the sheer adoration in Cas's eyes and the words coming out of his mouth would've had him on his knees otherwise. 

He swallows thickly. “Cas, I'm not _—_ ”

Cas shuts him up with a kiss.

Then another.

_Another._

“Yes, you are.” He says, breath hot against Dean's lips. “Now, can I go back to napping?” 

“Dork.” Dean tries to sound annoyed, but it’s hard when his eyes are wet and his voice is 50 Pitches of Screwed Up.

They settle down easily, Dean's front fitting perfectly against Cas's back. It feels like they were made to be like this, warm and breathing and happy and _together._

“You never answered my question." Dean nudges, pressing his lips to the tiny, curly hairs at Cas's nape. "How d'you manage to smell so nice, huh?” 

“I'm not sure, but I’m glad you like it." Cas replies, lacing their fingers together. "I like your scent, too.” 

“Yeah?" Dean grins. "What's it like to you?”

"Home, Dean." Cas draws back impossibly closer to Dean. "You smell like home." 

Dean finally finds the word he's been looking for.

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't help but use the "I loved you first" line. Because it fits Dean and Cas and I've been listening non-stop to Samson (You Are My Sweetest Downfall) by Regina Spektor lately.
> 
> So, what do you guys think?


End file.
